


Porch Light

by phoenix_risen



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Everyone Is Alive, Gen, M/M, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Monsters, Mothman, background gerrymichael, jonmartin, martin is gonna kiss a big bug, monster au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24997933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix_risen/pseuds/phoenix_risen
Summary: Martin Blackwood is not one for the paranormal, but working on Ghost Hunt UK pays enough that he'll steel him self against the things that go bump in the night.That is, until they go to the Old Magnus Manor.Martin doesn't like being known, but there's no way he can avoid it now.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 56
Kudos: 276





	1. Chapter 1

Martin was never overly interested in the paranormal. He'd partake in the occasional ghost story or horror movie, and he had a lot of respect for whoever came up with two sentence horror stories. As a poetry fan, the fact people could illiciate such a deep dread with just a couplet was incredibly impressive. Not his cup of tea, no, but definitely a feat.

The fact he ended up working for a ghost hunting YouTube channel had more to do with the nursing home his mother was in raising its rent than any real interest in the spectres that haunted Britain's landmarks. But it paid more than minimum and it required little to no experience, so why not put his bulk to use, moving everything in and out of the truck. He may have been pudgy, but some of that was real muscle! He worked hard, was strong enough to carry the equipment but had a light touch as to not damage it, was free literally all the time at the drop of a hat- 

And despite trying not to, he could be.. well… a bit of a bitch.

Melanie said that the first three made her hire him, and the last one was what made her want him to stay. Apparently his snarky comments were quotable? Stupid things like “I like spiders. Big ones, at least. Y’know, y’know the ones you can see some fur on; I actually think they’re sort of cute.”, something he said on a whim when Tim-- Melanie’s co-host after the previous, Andy, left-- walked into a web and freaked out. After that, they started to get pictures of people’s pet tarantulas, stuffies of big spiders, tagged in images. Melanie congratulated Martin on his “viewer engagement”. One time he made an offhand comment on how he wrote poetry and recorded it on tapes because of its “Lo-fi Charm”, half being snarky and half being serious. Peter, the sound designer, had scoffed at him, but the fans had found the comment hilarious. A week after posting Melanie presented him with a cross stitch sent in by a fan of a tape surrounded by spiders, “Lo-Fi Charm” underneath it in delicate script. It was weird, that a bunch of strangers on the internet seemed to have a deep affection for him, despite his face never being revealed. They saw glimpses of his body, maybe. A hand. A voice. It was almost comforting in a way, being known for only what he said and not anything else they might judge him on. Comforting and terrifying.

The current ghost-of-the-week was known as “The English Mothman”, a spectre of some sort that haunted a dilapidated manor in the Dering Woods. The Manor had belonged to one Jonah Magnus, who had relocated to an institute in London. Based on the history the woods had, Martin wasn’t surprised by that relocation. Even if The Magnus Institute researched odd happenings throughout the UK, the woods seemed a bit.. Too far. Melanie had interviewed the current head, Elias Bouchard, who “gave her a bad vibe”. Mr. Bouchard had insisted on not being recorded, so Melanie went alone. She had tried to record the audio with her phone, but upon playback the audio was completely corrupted. He had more or less simply stated that he did not believe in such things as a mothman, especially not living in the manor of Jonah Magnus, but that he would watch the episode to see what they may find. Something about that statement made Martin’s skin crawl. For some reason, being watched by Elias Bouchard held more weight than any old viewer, but he couldn’t place why.

It would simply have to be shaken off and forgotten.

The Manor itself was scary, an amazing setting for an episode. Melanie had been pushing for more and more obscure places as a way to stand out, but Andy hadn’t seem ed so sure. It was part of why he left. Standing in front of the place certainly didn’t make anyone feel better about it. It was dark, crumbling with age, with a surprising lack of sound as they came near. Even though he knew the camera was rolling, he couldn’t hold back his commentary.

“It looks as if it has  _ eyes _ .” He said apprehensively. “Two big watching eyes, looking out. I don’t like it.”

“Why in the hell did you have to point that out, Martin?” Melanie cringed, clutching the camera tighter. “Was it  _ really _ necessary?”

“Sorry! It does!” Martin was mesmerized. The windows, they were looking at him. Into him. Deep, past the tea and the snark and the sweater and into where he didn’t want anyone to look. Green and glowing and peering into the swirling, foggy depths of his loneliness. It knew, it knew everything there ever was to know about Martin Blackwood, and then even further. It knew of his mother, and it knew of his father, too. Of his grandparents, and their grandparents, and back and back until there was nothing left. It cored him, taking all of his knowledge and more and feeding on it. It made him want to scream, to exclaim all the things it knew but wanted to hear said out loud. To make him make it known. There was no sound, he didn’t know if the team was even still there. If they felt this too. This invasion of privacy and soul that made him feel as if-

And then the curtain moved.

Martin shrieked a less than manly shriek, horrified by the experience.

“What-?” Tim spun around towards him, obviously breaking from the spell as well.

Martin covered his mouth with his hands. “There’s someone in there!”

“Goddamn it. Must be squatters.” Melanie huffed, looking shaken in a way he’d never seen her. “Well, just keep the pepper spray handy. If they’re out this far they’re probably crazy, and I don’t feel like being stabbed again.”

“Again?” Martin squeaked out, but was quickly pulled into the Manor with the rest. It was times like these that made him wish he was a post production team member, like their editor Sasha. She never had to deal with the actual nitty gritty, but she was the one who did the majority of the research. Martin was a bit bumbling when it came to that, he was bad at concentrating, but at least he wouldn’t have to be here, entering a Manor that  _ looked at him _ .

“We should stick together.” Melanie stated. “We don’t know what could be going on in here. Especially with that monstrosity.” She pointed. Right after the entryway was a living area, adorned with a single huge portrait of who had to be Jonah Magnus. He was an admittedly handsome man, though Martin didn’t find him personally attractive. Conventional looks had never really been his thing, gay as he was. There was one thing that put him off, though. 

The eyes.

What was with this place and eyes?

Jonah’s eyes, unlike the rest of the aged painting, were bright green and almost looked… wet. Like they were fresh paint, or-

“His eyes look real.” Peter hissed. Martin felt a shiver run up his spine and he clutched his assigned equipment tighter. “Why do his eyes look real?”

“Maybe they put too much oil in the paint, I don’t know. No one’s eyes are that green, though.” Tim joked, trying to lighten the mood in the best way he knew how. No one laughed, but Melanie took a step closer. 

“No, I didn’t think so either, but…” She trailed off, thinking something over. Martin had no time to try and parse out what she meant as his attention was drawn by the sound of cracking. He couldn’t quite place it at first, but it was too late by the time he realized.

Wood splitting.

“The flo--!!” Martin yelled just in time to see his coworkers disappear as he fell through, out of sight and into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Martin woke up, thank god. He had honestly assumed he was done for. Rest in Peace, Martin Blackwood. Your poetry was mediocre and your life difficult. No one but maybe his coworkers would attend his funeral, and even then out of obligation. His mother wouldn’t come, just simply say good riddance.

Well, she wasn’t rid of him yet. He was certainly alive. A little bruised, but alive. He looked around to see if the equipment was okay, but it was nowhere to be found. He took in his surroundings next.

It was obviously a library, of sorts. Walls stretching up and up and up, filled with books and papers. He stared, eyes wide with awe. He’d never seen so many books in his life. The fact that he wasn’t dead was a miracle, judging by the height of the bookcases. It reminded him of the pictures he’d seen of vast libraries like Codrington or Bristol, but three levels higher. 

“Good lord.” His voice was hushed, almost reverent. Martin knew there were a lot of books in the world, of course there was. He, as a writer, was acutely aware of that. But even now, with all this in front of him, it was hard to conceptualize.

A sound made him turn, and next to him was a tape recorder. It hadn’t been there before, he was positive, and it was running. He picked it up anyway, smiling. Maybe he was more disoriented (or dead) then previously thought. A giant library, left to his own devices with no one to impress, sounded as much like heaven as anything else.

“Hello there. What are you doing down here?” He asked, looking the thing over. He was familiar enough with tape records (Lo-Fi Charm, after all) and this seemed like a completely normal one as far as he was concerned. Except it manifested in a giant library, already running. 

Huh.

Martin stood up, dusting himself off and checking for any more damage to his person. He seemed fine, he thought, if a little sore on the bottom and dirty everywhere. May as well start trying to get out. He started walking forward, slipping the still running recorder in his pocket, as it was as good a direction as any, whistling as he went. The floor was covered in papers with nonsensical numbers and phrases on them. He tried to avoid stepping on them, but it was difficult. He ended up slipping a little on one, almost falling over. This one had a slightly different look to it, with a fancy header. It must have been a first page of… whatever these papers were. Martin picked it up and began reading it, but before he could stop himself, he spoke it’s contents aloud. The sound of the tape recorder almost echoed in his ears.

“Statement of Joshua Heder, regarding his peculiar effects on the dead. “As a child my parents always had an issue with me. I think I may have suppressed the memory, since only recently do I recall an event involving myself and a dead raven. It occurred in 2012, when I was nine”-” Martin stopped. “Wait, Statement taken…. This can’t be right. This is from just last year!” He furrowed his brow and picked up another. “Statement of Saruto Ritsu, regarding his experience with an unyielding need to harm himself. “I’ve always considered myself a masochist, but what I experienced was borderline psychotic…” This one’s from 2017? That doesn’t make any sense. No one has lived here since the 1880s, Melanie said Elias told her-”

_ “Elias?”  _ Martin froze. A deep voice echoed through the Library, smooth with a timbre for telling stories. Maybe waxing poetic about a weird voice that came out of nowhere wasn’t the best plan, actually. He turned his head wildly, trying to find the source, until he happened to look directly upwards. What he saw horrified him.

Up, so high he could barely make out the features of the thing, was… well, just that. A  _ thing _ . A thing with gigantic wings that spread across the ceiling.

And those green eyes. Like the house. Like the portrait. As if dread were a color.

“ _ What do you know of Elias Bouchard? _ ” The voice wasn’t demanding. Martin wished it had been demanding. If it was demanding then he would have an excuse for his reaction. The query practically tore the information out of him, like it was fighting to go up to the creature with eyes for wings on the ceiling. 

“N-not much, he runs the Magnus Institute. I applied there but they knew immediately that I wasn’t telling the truth on my CV. I mean, what person my age has a masters in parapsy-EEK!” Martin hid under his hands as the thing dropped, its wings catching the air and it floating ever closer. Martin didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know the horror of this monster up close.

This had to be the Mothman. The mothman that, if you got too close, would feed on your memories until you were a mess of tears. That would watch you as you suffered in your nightmares. That’s what the claims said, that’s what Sasha had found in her research.

“ _ Your name. What is it?” _

“Mmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah…” Martin tried to force himself to not say it. It was an uphill battle, like Sisyphus and the Stone. Every time he tried to push, it got harder. “Maaaah…. Mmm…. Maaaartin. Shit”

“ _ Maaaartin?” _ He could feel the thing moving around him, in a way that let him know it definitely wasn’t shaped like a human. It was almost like it was.. Skittering. Like it had too many limbs and it didn’t quite know what to do with them. “ _ Ah, yes. Maaartin. You fell. I found you. I didn’t want to… to shock you, but it seems I have failed to avoid that. It was all I could do to not stop you as you stepped on my statements. But when I heard Elias’ name…”  _ Martin could almost feel the thing bristle. “ _ He and I do not get along.” _

“You know him?” Why was he engaging with the thing?!

“ _ Yes.” _

...Unsatisfactory answer, but okay.

“ _I will clarify, if you stop being such a rude guest. I swear, I have never met anyone so bumbling as to fall through the floor and then_ ** _continue_** _to walk without looking.”_

“How..?”

“ _ The All-Seeing Eye allows me to know many things. Things I wish to know, things I do not. Beholding is not a kind patron, but it serves some purpose. Though, I don’t need that to know you fell through the floor. That is hard to miss.”  _ Derision dripped off its words.

Martin peeked up to see.. A face. A warped one, but a face. The shape was that of a normal human head, if a long one, with fluffy antennae poking out from black, gray-streaked hair. There was scarring, so many small round blemishes that stood out stark white on dark skin. In the center of this face, instead of a nose or mouth, was a giant green eye that glowed faintly. It was surrounded by four more eyes, two where they would normally be and two more just underneath. Each eye had a slit pupil like that of a cat, pulled towards the middle to look at him. There was a line like a fold of skin from its chin to the bottom of the central eye that made Martin uneasy. It tilted it’s head.

“ _ I am not one to talk, but it is  _ **_not_ ** _ polite to stare, Maaartin.” _

Martin gave a little broken laugh, almost hysterical as he tried to process what was in front of him. There was no mouth. He could hear the voice, but there was no mouth. He moved his eyes from the face down the very, very long neck to an elongated body, as if a very thin person was put through a taffy puller. There was a second set of arms from the bottom of it’s ribcage, and much to Martin's horror one of its palms  _ blinked _ at him. It seemed to have an eye on the center of each of its palms. Its legs weren’t human at all, once again more catlike than human, with long toes and claws. The moth wings he’d seen before shimmered iridescent green and purple up close, and every little twitch of them added another pair of eyes blinking at him. It was apparently human enough for clothes, though. A dark green robe with a black swirling pattern he couldn’t make out was wrapped around it’s waist, held together with a golden pendant shaped like an eye. What was with this thing and eyes?

“ _ I told you already. The Sight is my patron. Really, Maaartin, keep up.”  _ It huffed. “ _ Unless you can’t handle that. _ ”

“I-I can! The Sight… Were you the one looking out the window at us?”

“ _ Ah? No. I do not leave the Archive. That may have been Gerry. ” _

“Gerry? Is he a squatter? I can’t imagine a monster named  _ Gerry _ .”

“ _ Gerry is another Avatar of Beholding, but more generally than I. I am the Archivist. He is… well, he knew the previous Archivist.” _

“There’s  _ more of you?”  _ Martin dragged his hands down his face. “I need to sit down. Have a cup of tea. Think.”

“ _ Oh, you think, do you? I find humans are rather bad at that. Tea sounds… nice. I cannot make it, really, and Gerry is equally abysmal at it. Do you…?” _

“I’ll make the tea.” Martin laughed again, a little less hysterically this time. “Tea for monsters. This is  _ insane _ . Wait, do you  _ have _ tea?”

“ _ Of course. I may be a monster, but I still have  _ **_needs_ ** _ , Maaartin.” _

“It’s just Martin. You don’t have to hold it out like that…. Mr…. Mrs…. Miss? Archivist?”

“ _ Martin.”  _ It still was holding out the “a” a lot longer than it needed to. “ _ And just Archivist. Mr. if you must, but it doesn’t really matter. Gender presentation is the least of my worries at this point.” _

“So… Him-he?”

“ _ You are a strange little man. Asking a monster it’s pronouns. You’ll like Gerry. He’s similarly unphased.” _

“Unphased is  _ not _ the word I would use for how I’m feeling right now.” Martin shook his head. “I mean, I just met Mothman.”

Martin wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn’t awkward sputtering. “ _ Excuse me? I am NOT mothman! I am the Archivist!! I am an avatar of the Ceaseless Watcher! I am a dangerous being, and if anything, I am a beholder!” _

“Like in Dungeons and Dragons? I was getting more of, like… Have you seen Avatar: The Last Airbender? Doubt you've seen it, since you're a monster and all, but it's about a totally different type of avatar, but there’s this Owl that had a li-”

“ _ I am  _ **_not_ ** _ like Wan Shi Tong!” _ The Archivist bristled, something he seemed to do a lot. “ _ I did not make this place, I did not choose this place.” _

“I’m just saying.” Martin smiled a little. “So where’s your tea? Do you have a teapot?”

“ _ Do I have a teapot.. Of course I have a teapot!”  _ He grumbled. “ _ Gerry has it upstairs. I’ll bring you there. Did you come alone? How many people will he have to host? He isn’t the biggest fan of others. _ ”

“The two of you seem absolutely dour.” Martin gave him a pat on the nearest arm. He flinched, but allowed the contact. “Though living in here it’s no wonder why. I didn’t come alone, though.”

“ _ Hmph. Ah, I see. Tim, Melanie, Peter. I knew that taking the statements of those people was a mistake. I couldn’t help it. You’re lucky, really. If it hadn’t been them, it would have been you. You’ve had many encounters. It would have been… unpleasant. For you.”  _

“All these names, and you’re just “The Archivist”, speaking in circles… You  _ want _ me to ask about you, don’t you?” Martin squeezed the arm he had been patting.

“ _... Asking is my place. Not yours. I will take you to make tea. If there are others here… Bring the tea back down to me before you leave. I can’t be around that many people, Martin.” _

“Okay. But if I do that, you have to tell me one thing. I’ll even tell you some other tidbit about myself if you want. But you have to tell me one thing and you have to be honest.”

“ _ I am, in many ways, omniscient. I can answer just about any question you have.” _ The Archivist did not seem proud of this fact.

“Good. You have to tell me your name. Your real name. Not “The Archivist” or whatever. That’s a title.” Martin wasn’t sure why he wanted to know so badly, but he couldn’t help it. It was like he  _ needed _ to know.

“ _ You’ll come back if I tell you?”  _ There was an odd amount of vulnerability in those words. Despite how prickly he seemed, Martin wondered if a lot of it had to do with being lonely.

He could empathize.

“Of course. You can use your omniscience to tell I’m a man of my word, right?”

“ _ You’re actually a compulsive liar, but that’s beside the point.”  _ The Archivist actually rolled his eyes. “ _ You aren’t lying now, though, as far as I can tell.” _

“Well?”

“ _ Since you insist... It’s Jon.” _

“Jon? That’s it?”

The Archivist-- Jon-- looked affronted. “ _ Jonathan, if you must know. Sims. Was my grandfather’s name. _ ”

“Well, I’m Martin K. Blackwood, if you must know.” Martin parroted back.

“ _ That K doesn’t stand for anything and we both know that.”  _ Jon fluttered his wings as if annoyed. “ _ Why bother with it?” _

“It stands for “Killer Cup of Tea”, and you won’t get to taste where that comes from if you don’t stop being a big baby. A caterpillar, if you will.”

“ _Wow. I was human once, you know. I wasn’t_ ** _hatched.”_** Jon shook his head, closing all of his eyes. Martin couldn’t tell if it was in displeasure or resignation. _“You are strange. Names and pronouns and jokes and tea. If I were in your position, I think I may have passed out. Or attacked the monster in front of me.”_

“Good thing I’m me and you’re you then, hmm?” Martin said reassuringly.

“ _ I suppose. _ ” Jon sounded thoughtful, but only for a moment before he opened his eyes again. “ _ Now, back to the surface with you. I think I might scream if you continue to make a mess of my Archive.” _

“How far underground are we? I don’t see a hole where I fell through.”

“ _ Very. There are tunnels. Many of them. You fell where anyone might have found you. There are many unsightly creatures here, Martin. Though, considering your encounters with the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss, I think you understand what that entails. That is where I received these.” _ Jon gestured vaguely to his face, and Martin gasped.

“The worms-” He started, but Jon placed a hand on his face. The feeling of the eyelashes from the eye on his palm made Martin shudder a little.

“ _ Yes, yes. But  _ **_tea_ ** _ , Martin. I want  _ **_tea_ ** _. You can’t keep coming up with more things to say. Now listen. You will go to the entrance of the Archive.”  _ Jon pointed to a doorway that certainly wasn’t there before. “ _ Gerry will show you out. He already knows what’s going on and will  _ **_UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES EXPOSE YOU TO THE DISTORTION_ ** .” The last bit was clearly aimed sternly at the door, and Martin had to force himself not to giggle. “ _ Off you go, then.” _

Martin walked a few steps away, then looked back. Jon shooed him, and he continued to the door-that-wasn’t-there-before. He went to open it, then took a look back.

“Are you sure I’m not dead? A ghost, or something?” He asked, only half joking. “I do like books.”

“ _ You are not.  _ **_Tea._ ** _ ”  _ Jon sat on the floor like a cat, crossing one set of arms on the floor and the other across his chest.

“You’re right, you’re right.” Martin finally opened the door, revealing a man in goth attire. He had long black hair, though it was dirty blonde at the root, and tattoos of more of those goddamned eyes. His actual eyes were brown, but had a green gleam to them, like he was looking into a green light and it was reflecting back. “...Gerry?”

“The one and only.” He grinned. “You’re making tea? Love that. Jon always gripes about how I make it, but Gertrude never complained.”

“Uh, yeah. I guess.” Martin threw a glance over his shoulder, only to see Jon had disappeared.

“Rad. Let’s get on, then. I can only do this so long before Michael gives up trying not to cause problems.”

“Okay.”

With that, Martin took one last look at the Archive, and stepped into the impossible door. The click of it closing was foreboding, but not as foreboding as the sound of the tape he had forgotten clicking off.


	3. Chapter 3

"So." Martin broke an uncomfortable (at least, he thought it was uncomfortable) silence. He and the Goth Eye Guy known as Gerry had been walking for what felt like an eternity down a hallway that didn't seem to end. "Um. You live in here with Jon?"

"He told you his name? I'm surprised. But I don't live in here," Gerry gestured around them at the perpetual repeating hallway. "This is my boyfriend's place. Just makes the tunnels easier to deal with. Y'know."

"Is he a… what did he call it… oh! An Avatar?" Martin looked into the mirrors as they passed. He looked at himself looking at himself with another one of himself looking at another and so on forever in every mirror. A corridor within a corridor, but one you could never actually walk down. A chamber of falsehoods and himself, on and on. Really, where did he end and the lies he told begin? What made them untrue when he’d been preaching them as his truth for so many years? Could he simply reach into the mirror and become an alternate Martin, in a different hallway, walking with a similar but not quite Gerry. His vision was starting to shift, transform, but he couldn’t look away. He had to look deeper….

Deeper, in the swirling depths….

Deeper, to where truth and lies were one…

Deeper….

Gerry snorted, startling Martin from his gazing. "Sorry, but you stopped walking. This place is trying to disorient you. Don't let it."

"Easier said than done." Martin had to fight off a glare. He was starting to get a headache.

"I manage it, and I'm in here quite a lot. Though, I'm a little hardier than you. Michael's an Avatar, I'm an Avatar, you're right. This isn't the Eye, though."

"Jon said Distortion, is that this?" Martin fought the temptation to look back at the mirror.

"...that's actually a really difficult question. Good on you. This is part of the entity the Spiral, but specifically the Distortion. Michael, my boyfriend, is also the Distortion. Or maybe the Distortion is Michael? It's weird and trying to get a straight answer out of him is like trying to squeeze milk out of rocks. Just doesn't work." Gerry grabbed a mirror and pulled. It opened like a door, and Martin found himself wondering how he knew that mirror, that was identical to all the others, was the right one. Maybe he was omniscient, too. He let Martin step through, then followed, closing it behind them. Just like that, the door was gone. "That's why Jon hates him. Jon likes flat facts, and he can make just about anyone give them to him against their will. Even now, in his state, he's quick to dismiss the claims of many. Michael, well… he lies. Talks in circles and spirals and corkscrews until your mind is spinning. Jon can't make him speak plainly, even as The Archivist. Drives him mad." 

"Not that I don't appreciate knowing, but… you two sure do talk a lot. It's all very interesting. And scary. My curiosity tends to border on stupidity, anyway. It’s just… he even knew about Jane Prentiss, of all things!"

"Jane Prentiss?  _ You _ know about her? No wonder Jon found you in the tunnels. He must be able to taste your trauma in the air." Gerry put his hands in his pockets. "I sort of Know about there being others here, but Jon didn't give me much. Who's here with you?"

"I thought you were watching us from the window, though? Jon said it was probably you. But we really need to go back to the tasting trauma thing."

"What? I didn't-"

"MARTIN!" Tim came around the corner running. "You're okay! You scared me, you big bastard! If you die, who am I gonna ironically make fun of for liking men?" He whacked him on the arm. “But really, thank god.”

“You could always take your harassment back to Sasha. She likes men. You can do without me and my weird taste." Martin fell right into the teasing, making Tim pout exaggeratedly.

"If I make fun of her liking men, maybe she'll decide that being a lesbian is really the better option and I'll ruin my chances.”

“Don’t let Melanie hear you say that. She’ll break your ribs.”

“She knows I’m kidding. It’s not biphobia if I’m bi. Then it’s just playful self-deprecation. Speaking of bi, who's this Alt Babe?" Tim flashed a charming grin to an unimpressed looking Gerry.

"You're lucky I don't call the police for trespassing. You did put a hole in my floor after all.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Martin here, as wonderful as he is, is a bit accident prone. If there’s anyway I can make it up to you-”

“I’m taken, thanks.”

“Oh! Of course, sorry ‘bout that too. Lucky partner!” Tim smoothed over, not even missing a beat. “Can we interview you about living in The Magnus Manor? Totally cool if not. We’re just a bunch of youtubers, and we aren’t trying to be disrespectful, y’know.”

“Youtuber and not disrespectful is an oxymoron, but I guess you can. Martin is only off the hook because he promised Jon he’d make tea.” Gerry shrugged. “There isn’t much to know, but I’ll tell you what I can.”

“Perfect! I’ll tell the others! Martin, you put those tea skills to good use and help us avoid a lawsuit!” Tim flashed a peace sign before speed walking away to look for the rest of the group.

There was a beat of silence.

“I like him. He’s a riot.” Gerry stated plainly. “Tea time, then.”

\-----

Martin was needless to say mortified by the way Gerry made tea. Rolling boil, two bags per cup (one green, one black), then left Martin saying he’d be back in twenty to squeeze the bags out.

He could have screamed. That may have been the most upsetting thing he’d seen all day. Mothman was fine to talk to, unending horror hallway was practical, but this was just  _ gross _ . He rooted through the cupboards of a surprisingly quaint and clean little kitchen, trying to find something a little more palatable. Martin had noted that, as they ventured deeper into the manor and into the area that Gerry actually lived, it looked… normal. Mundane, especially considering it’s occupants were a goth and a moth who served some evil eyeball, and sometimes a “swirly man”, as Gerry had affectionately referred to him a couple times. Much to his chagrin he located a box of Vanilla Chai Black Tea. He made his own water, poured it over, let it steep for  _ four _ minutes like it said on the  _ box, GERRY _ , and did not squeeze the tea bag. Because gross.

Martin thought for a moment. He liked his straight, but maybe a moth wouldn’t like that so much? Jon didn’t strike him as a sweets sort of person…

Well, he’d just bring the sugar down in case he wanted a sweeter cup. Or, maybe he could ask? He wasn’t sure how Gerry and Jon had communicated the information about the tea, and bringing him up without speaking to each other. Maybe Jon could just make information happen in people’s brains? 

“I do take sugar, you were right to think so.”

Martin jumped, grabbing the sides of his head. It didn’t  _ sound _ like it was in his head, but that was unmistakably Jon’s voice. A little less echoey, but certainly his. “....Hello?”

“I’m right here, you ass.” 

Martin whirled around to see a small man with greying hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore horn rimmed glasses with the little grandma chain on them, a large green sweater, and had a look on his face like he would rather be anywhere but here. He was… wow. Wow, wow, wow. Martin tried not to blush, but he was sure that he failed.

“J-jon? Uh, I thought you couldn’t leave the archive?”

“I said I don’t, not that I couldn’t. I didn’t want to wait, and it took me this long to come from the tunnels to here.”

“Couldn’t you just use the hallway like Gerry?”

Jon scoffed. “I cannot.”

“Gerry said you don’t like Michael, is that why?”

“No! No. Helen, another facet, I like fine. It’s just not physically possible for me to travel through it as the Archivist. So I walk.”

“Makes about as much sense as anything else.” Martin held out the cup of tea, looking at the ground. “Add as much sugar as you like. Gerry steeps it for too long and squeezes the teabag out. Makes even more bitter than it would be otherwise.”

“Hmm. I usually leave it for about an hour.” Jon turned away towards the sugar bowl.

“You are omniscient, and yet, you think you should leave tea in for an hour?” Martin bit back a grin.

“Yes, Martin, I did.” Jon snapped, then took a swig of his tea. “This is perfect, thank you. I’m headed back down.”

“Wait-! If you can look human, why not stay up here for a bit?” Martin didn’t want him to leave, even if he was a tad on the prickly side.

“This form is tiring and being around people, especially people touched by Fear like the ones you’ve brought with you… It makes it hard to act normally.” Jon stated, then started walking. Martin followed. “Really Martin, you think I would stay down there if I had the choice? If I wasn’t a danger to others? I’ve been threatened enough by other avatars, by the goddamned  _ police _ , to know staying down in the Archive as my real self is better for everyone. Tell me, what have you been through that makes you so willing to talk to monsters?”

_ Click _ .

“...I...” Martin’s voice trembled, like he was recalling something he didn’t want to. “It started with this guy. Timothy Hodge. I only knew him from work, really. Some overnight dish washing job I got to pay a little bit more of the bills. He said he used to be a freelance designer, but these days he couldn’t concentrate enough to finish any projects. He said he thought he got something from a girl he slept with. I assumed he meant an infection, and I wasn’t… wrong, per se, but I wasn’t right, either. I didn’t-”

Suddenly, Jon’s hands were over his mouth. He’d dropped the cup, letting it shatter on the floor, and had an expression of pure terror on his face. Martin felt compelled to continue, but was almost relieved when he physically couldn’t. 

“You should leave.” Jon let his hands fall. “I can’t believe I… This always happens. Go.”

Martin opened his mouth to protest, but then nodded. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong.” Jon spat. “Leave.”

With that, The Archivist turned and disappeared down the hallway. His form began to shift, trying to return to monstrous. Stretching limbs, appearing eyes... 

As he rounded a corner, Martin caught a glimpse of a returning wing, almost as if it was giving him one last uninterpretable look. Martin decided in that moment that, even if he left for now, he would be back.

Maybe it was because he didn’t want Jon to be Lonely.

Maybe it was because, for some reason, he felt like there were kindred spirits here.

Maybe it was because he had some sort of obsession with forcing his company onto people who didn’t want it.

Maybe it was because he was simply Lonely himself.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But one thing was for certain, The Archivist would not be rid of him that easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can i get an amen for more tim????
> 
> also I drew moth jon yeet
> 
> https://certifiedboyf.tumblr.com/post/622546455535796224/fun-fact-i-write-fanfiction-sometimes-so-if-you


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is short but its kind of a bridge

The drive back to the studio was…. Interesting, to say the least. Gerry had, thankfully, found all the equipment Martin was carrying and returned it with only minor damage. Thank god, he did  _ not _ have the money to replace that shit. Peter was still miffed about it, driving the van silently. Melanie and Tim were discussing their interview with Gerry, who had apparently described the Manor as a passion project. He and his housemate (Jon, Martin assumed) were history/architecture buffs and received money from several sources (Elias being one of them) to restore the place. Tim was especially excited about it being designed by an architect named Robert Smirke, going on and on about how Smirke was “a master of subtle stability” among other things. Melanie was equally interested, having heard about Smirke’s architecture creating hubs of paranormal activity.

Martin wondered if Smirke was the one who made the tunnels under the Manor. Maybe they were connected to other places. Everything that came up just made him want to know more, even though he was fundamentally told to screw off by Jon. Jon in his big sweater and dark brown eyes and long, pretty ha-

Nope, shut that down right now, Martin. He would  _ not  _ crush on the grumpy moth in the basement of a manor. That was not going to fly. He always chose the worst guys to like. Stubborn men with sharp tongues and even sharper looks. Distant men who didn’t want him to be around, who left or made him leave. Thanks, mom and dad, he was really enjoying the attachment issues. Made dating a real pleasure.

It was part of why he left his last actual good-paying job. Getting involved with your boss between his divorces was just the sort of stupid move he’d make, and he decided it would be better to just remove himself from that situation before he would let their relationship get beyond that point.

He always hated how Mr. Lukas called him his “lonely boy”, anyway. Now that he was a little older, wiser, it made his skin crawl to think about.

Martin was deep in thought when he realized Tim was looking back at him, grinning wickedly.

“What, Tim?” Martin snapped a little snottier than he meant to. The look was putting him off.

“You’re making that “I saw a boy I thought was cute” face. Like when we met that sassy ghost tour guide in York.” 

“I am not!”

“Oooo, did you like Gerry, too? Finally, you’ve gotten some taste, but you heard the man. Taken.” Tim fake-swooned. “I wonder what his partner looks like? They're probably one of those super hot alt couples, y’know? My shirts wouldn’t vibe with them.” Tim tugged at the bold pattern shirt he was wearing.

“No, not… Gerry is fine, but not my type. I was… I don’t like anyone.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Alriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.” Melanie added in.

“Not you too!” Martin slumped back into his seat. “For your information, I didn’t like anyone, or think anyone was cute. I was just thinking about Gerry’s housemate, okay? You guys didn’t meet him. He was just really smart and-”

“Oh no, here we go again. Let me guess. Quick Witted, distinguished looking, probably called you an ass or something. Did he yell at you for falling through the floor?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Really, Martin, you’re a cool guy. You could do better than the dickheads you tend to go for.”

“I’ve only worked here, what, eight months? How would you know?” Martin huffed. “And you say “go for” like I’ve actually dated anyone long term.”

“Now that’s just a sad statement. I know tons of guys who would love to talk to a guy like you.”

“I’m not taking your sloppy seconds, Tim. That isn’t as gracious as you might think.” Martin crossed his arms. Melanie shrieked with laughter, and even Peter snickered from the front. Tim looked embarrassed for a half second before returning to grinning.

“Okayyyy, okay, good job taking me down a peg. I forget that you can clap back hard. But for real, I wanna hear about this guy. Is he also a Goth King?”

“No, um… He’s got like… Glasses? And um. Eyes. Behind them.”

“Wow. The poet speaks.” Melanie nudged him. “You’ve got such a way with words, and by that I mean you’ve got it baaad.”

“Shut up!” Martin squeaked. “Okay, okay, so he’s got long dark hair with silver in it but he looks a lot younger in the face, so I’m assuming it’s stress. His job is stressful.” At least, Martin assumed being a moth man librarian was probably pretty stressful. “So yeah. His eyes are brown and green, but not hazel? If that makes sense. And he didn’t call me an ass. He did tell me to leave, though…” Martin fiddled with his shirt. 

“God, Martin.” Melanie shook her head. “Well, we’ll send you and your masochistic ass to deal with the follow up interview, then. That asshole Elias Bouchard didn’t say anything about funding restoration. I mean, if Gerry was telling the truth, it’s basically an off-site storage spot for the Institute’s older paperwork. Why would people say there’s a mothman in there?”

Martin shrugged. “Maybe they saw Gerry or Jon and got spooked.”

“All the resources said they told the Mothman a horrible incident in their lives and now they dream of him. Sasha got some of the people to come in and interview and they all described it as a towering, many limbed man with five eyes. Five eyes is so weirdly specific.” Peter supplied from the front. 

“Yeah, who knows.” Martin lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So y'all know i made a playlist of music I listen to while writing this for the Vibes:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0INS4vKBckuIbHpnBMmjjh?si=iviVJrkLSneRin0qtaJnhQ
> 
> Also!!! Fanart!??!?!?! Happened??!?!?!?!?! Its so fantastic i literally screamed when i saw it, thank u so much spellboundcities!!  
>  Its here --  
> https://spellboundcities.tumblr.com/post/622600662219423744/what-do-you-know-of-elias-bouchard-im-unsure
> 
> If anyone draws stuff i would LOVE to see it just @ me on tumblr certifiedboyf.tumblr.com
> 
> Oh and another ref of Mr archivist - https://certifiedboyf.tumblr.com/post/622924957904715776/couldnt-decide-on-which-i-liked-more-but-heres


	5. Chapter 5

It was about two weeks before Martin was able to go back to the Manor, under the pretence of asking for a follow up interview. Melanie had decided to do a whole series about the Magnus Institute and Jonah Magnus. It helped, really, that Sasha and Tim had both worked there at different times. Sasha had left her position in Artifact Storage after she found the workplace sexism to be too much for her to deal with, and Tim had done a short internship there in college, mostly paperwork. Neither had ever met Gertrude formally, but Sasha actually remembered Gerry working with the Archival Assistants on occasion. She mentioned that the last time she had seen him was in 2014, and heard rumors that at 28 years old he was hospitalized with some sort of cancer. She had quit soon after, though, and never heard anymore about it. Sasha being Sasha asked Martin to let him know she was glad for his recovery, even if she doubted he remembered her. A tall woman with long hair was a lot less memorable than an almost thirty year old man in full goth attire, she reasoned, and Martin promised he would let him know.

That was all well and good, of course, but there was still the unsettling business of the many disappearances related to Gertrude Robinson and the Institute. She was the Head Archivist. Hearing her title had sent a shiver up Martin’s spine and made him wonder if she was out there, a monster of some kind, like Jon. Another Archivist. That was partially why they wanted a follow up. Martin was to ask Gerry about the list of disappearances.

Fiona Law, Emma Harvey, Eric Delano (Martin wanted to avoid that one, as he was Gerry’s father), Sarah Carpenter, Michael Shelley, Helen Richardson, Gertrude herself, and most recently…

Jonathan Sims.

Reading that, on paper, was enough to make Martin blanch. So Jon was technically a missing person. It made sense, of course, that whenever he stopped being a man and became the monstrous thing he was now that he would have disappeared. It was dangerous to be strange, odd, off. There were lots of little facts he learned about him, too. Sasha said he was a prickly man to everyone, but Elias would actively favor him. Tim noted that he was a dick, plain and simple, and would be so rude to those who came in that it caused complaints. Melanie’s girlfriend Georgie apparently used to  _ date _ him in uni, and according to her no one noticed he was missing for almost two weeks. It must have been a sore spot for her, as Melanie said she refused to speak on the subject further.

Martin tried to work out why all these disappearances happened. He obviously knew that Jon was alive, just less human, and from there made the inference that Michael Shelley may be the Michael that was dating Gerry. It wasn’t a huge leap to make, if he was one of those “avatars” they kept talking about. Jon had even mentioned someone named Helen, if he remembered correctly. Maybe all eight were in that same boat. If Jon was an Archivist, and so was Gertrude, perhaps they both were moth people living underground. Or maybe she was more like Gerry, glowing green eyes with tattoos covering her entire body. Maybe Gerry inherited those traits from Eric Delano. His head was filled with these questions as he knocked on the front door of the manor instead of just barging in. The manor’s “eyes” didn’t seem to be present, as opposed to last time. It was a relief, really.

Martin didn’t receive any response, so he knocked again, louder this time. He heard shuffling, and the door swung open. The… man... Standing there was certainly not Gerry or Jon. Gerry and Jon (when he looked human) were both very short, and Martin found himself looking up to look him in the eyes, which was  _ weird _ . Martin was used to being the tallest person in the room at almost 193 cm, but this man was even  _ taller _ . He was grinning like Martin was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, and his hair was a rat’s nest of blonde curls. 

“Hellooooo~ Who might you be? Visitors aren’t common here.” His voice sounded warped, and it gave Martin a bit of vertigo to hear. He had to fight off a cringe to be polite.

“Uh… I’m looking for Gerry?”

“Gerry? Oh, I’m sorry, poor love’s got a migraine.” The man shrugged helplessly. “What do you need?”

Martin gasped. “Oh! Wait, are you Michael?”

Michael’s eyes widened, and he laughed like a broken mirror, if that made any sense at all. It did to Martin in that moment. “Yes, I suppose I am! Technically, I might be Michael, or not. But for now, I will say yes. Sometimes I am not, though. You can tell when I am not Michael.”

“Wh-” Martin started, thoroughly confused, but he was grabbed by the sharpest hand he’d ever felt and pulled inside. 

“You’re the tea man. Martin, I think? Gerry talked about you. Almost got lost in the corridors. You sound like fun, though. Helen and I would have a riot with you.”

“Those are yours? Gosh, they called you something and I can’t recall what it was…”

“The Distortion, the Throat of Es Mentiras, It is Not What it Is, and so on. And they most certainly are not mine. I would explain to you, but unfortunately it is not in my nature to give simple explanations and Gerry will want to talk to you immediately. He’s already not so happy I dropped by. I tend to make his headaches worse.” There was no remorse in the statement, just simple observation.

“I can see why.” Martin deadpanned, making Michael laugh that disconcerting laugh.

“You really are an interesting person. Touched by so many fears. It’s impressive you aren’t claimed by one, in any sense of the word.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Geeerrrrrryyyy, darling, Tea Boy is back~” Michael deflected, shouting into the Manor. There was creaking, and a very pained looking Gerry appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Oh, god, why today? I’m sorry, but I just… My head hurts. Eye makes me just inhuman enough not to die from the goddamn thing pressing against my brain. I’m this close to asking Hopworth to see if he could take it out. It’s not bone, but-”

“I can find him and ask if you’d like, darling.” Michael offered.

Gerry scowled. “I’m kidding. As if I’d want to be indebted to that fleshy freak.”

“I knoooow.” Michael tilted his head. “Do you want me to show Tea Boy the door?”

“No, no, just… Martin, come up here if you need to talk. I need to be in the dark.”

“I understand. My mum always got migraines. Not to sound stupid, but would you like a cup of tea and a Benadryl? That usually helps, and if it doesn’t, it might knock you out.”

“...That sounds really nice, actually. God, how is someone as traumatized as you so nice?”

“Traumatized?”

“Yeah. If you forgot where the kitchen is, Michael can show you.” Gerry headed to his room without further explanation. 

“Benadryl and tea, why didn’t I think of that…” Michael mumbled. “It’s been so long since I’ve been human, I forget about things like medicine. Helen would know more. Do you mind?”

“Mind wh-” Martin didn’t even finish his statement before a door appeared from nowhere and Michael vanished into it.

And just like that, he was alone.

\--

Martin made the tea and grabbed out the benadryl like he said he would, unsure what to do after that. The tea got cold and had to be rewarmed a couple times in the time he was just… sitting there in the kitchen. The house was silent, eerily so, save for the occasional settling sound. 

That made the click of the tape all that much louder.

Martin jumped, spotting it on the counter where it certainly wasn’t before. “Um. Hello?”

No response.

“What are you guys, anyway? I don’t get it.” Martin picked it up, watching the turning of the tape as it recorded. It wanted to fill up the tape, and Martin was struck with the need to fill it. It was weird, he usually hated talking about himself to anyone. A tape wasn’t really anyone, though. It was just a tape. “You want to know something about me, it seems like. Uh… Well, I’m lonely.” He chuckled. “This isn’t the loneliest I’ve been, though. I mean, when I worked for the Lukas family…  _ that _ was lonely. I couldn’t even visit my mum, though I know she doesn’t really like me visiting, anyway. She always says I’m useless, a pain to be around, all that mean stuff. I hope… I don’t think she means it. She’s just a little harsh. Mr. Lukas said I was one of the lonliest people he’d ever met, and he worked on a ship. No contact with others for  _ months _ , and  _ I _ was the lonely one. It’s like he could tell I’d never been good at making friends. Being able to fade into the background was always my strong suit. Not everyone can go unnoticed even when surrounded by others, especially as big as I am. But I managed it. I’d be proud if it wasn’t so sad.” He couldn’t stop talking to this tape, it was a little weird, but it felt good to talk about. “The only attention I’ve ever really gotten was negative. It makes this whole YouTube thing really, really hard. When they’re nice to me, I just… It feels fake, or forced, or wrong. Like I shouldn’t be talked about that way, y’know?”

“I get that.”

Martin jumped again, turning to see Gerry standing in the doorway. Gerry walked in and grabbed the tape, turning it off and removing the tape. He dropped it on the ground and crushed it under his boot.

“Why did you do that?” Martin was dumbfounded.

“You want nightmares for the rest of your life?”

“...No?”

“Think of it as my apology for leaving you down here. I fell asleep, somehow.” Gerry grabbed a cup of tea and sipped it. “How is this still warm? You are too nice, mate. Though, I get the mom thing. My mom sucks, too.”

“My mom doesn’t suck.” Martin wasn’t even convincing himself

“Sure, okay.” Gerry sat. “So, you wanted to talk?”

“Uh, yeah. I have some questions? From Melanie?”

“Sounds good. Shoot.”

Martin took a deep breath. “Okay, well-”

...

..

.

Jon sat, eyes closed and concentrating on the kitchen. That Martin was back again, after being told to leave. Jon felt like he should have been more angry about it, but he just… wasn’t. Annoyed, maybe, but not angry. Part of him wanted to be up there, talking to both of them. It reminded him of when he was touched by the Lonely.

A weird little kid with no parents who just read all the time and hid behind his hair. Who fought teachers. Who would spend hours hiding on a deserted playground in the tubes, waiting for Grandma to come get him and yell at him for scuffing his shoes and mussing his skirt.

His grandmother never forgot to call him Jon. He missed her so much, though he was glad she didn’t live to see him like this.

Not something he wanted to dwell on.

He wondered instead if Martin made the extra cup of tea on purpose, for him, or was it an accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might reference it again later but Jon is trans and was probably one of those girls who "def has something wrong with her but is smart so no one cares" no as a gifted child trans person i am not projecting I promise
> 
> they did top surgery on a moth Lets get an F in the chat umu
> 
> Also Michael and helen both exist as facets of the distortion in this au


	6. Chapter 6

Becoming friends with Gerry was definitely weird. He’d long since stopped coming for the show, starting to come just for the company. Martin wasn’t the type to have friends anyway, and from what he had learned about Gerry, neither was he.

Maybe it was just a side effect of having an incredibly shitty mom. 

It was nice to commiserate with someone who understood. Usually that part of his life was something that Martin would have to shut down, but after making an off color joke, Gerry had immediately responded in kind. Mary Keay was obsessive and cared more about books than her son, to the point she made his life a living hell until she died, and (unsurprisingly to Martin, considering the weirdness that was Gerry and Jon) even after. Deidre Blackwood was dismissive at best and hateful at worst as she cursed Martin’s similarities to his father, retorting to all his care with spite. 

At least his mother didn’t kill his father, as much as he knew she wanted to.

Gerry told him he respected him for continuing to try with her, but offered an open ear for when he needed it. Martin took him up on that offer and responded in kind. Gerry admitted that talking to Jon, who could get very “woah is me” and was an “at least” type of comforter, and Michael, who struggled with empathy in general, could get tiring. Helen, who Martin had finally had the pleasure of meeting during his fifth or sixth visit, was much better but had her own things to take care of when it was “her turn on the brain cell”, as Gerry had so eloquently put it. At first Martin had come hoping to see Jon, if he was honest with himself, but not now. Now he made three cups of tea out of habit then forgot about the mothman in the basement in favor of chatting with a dry humored goth. 

It was, eventually, Jon who came to seek  _ him _ out. Michael had stopped by and Gerry excused himself for a bit. Martin was comfortable enough in the house at that point that he didn’t mind being left alone for an hour or so. He just pulled out a notepad and mused on a poem he had started earlier in the day. The woods were inspiring where they were once terrifying, he found, and made a point to keep paper on him at all times to record his thoughts. He  _ could  _ do it on his phone, but he found physically writing it down gave it more of a flow. When Martin decided it was satisfactory for a first draft, he looked around to make sure Gerry wasn’t around, then cleared his throat. Reading a poem aloud was important, too, to keep things flowing correctly. He stood and began to pace with the meter of his writing.

“The leaves of the oak shift silent and soft.

I watch from below, wandering, lost

In a singular, lingering, warm-hearted thought that

Today I will pay a visit.

A lonely road walked by a lonely man.

A path made by only one pair of hands

And grass walked on over and over again.

Today I will pay a visit.

Welcomed or not, I sit inside;

An act of rejection, of hurt, of pride,

An affront that earns a long-suffering sigh

Today I will pay a-”

_ “You know, repetition like that is fine for an amateur, but I think you could do better.” _

Martin gasped, dropping his pad and covering his mouth. He hadn’t even noticed that he had wandered out of the kitchen entirely. He looked around wildly, not seeing Jon but knowing he was there. “I am so, so sorry. I’m sure that was terrible!”

“ _ I preferred last Monday’s poem. Blossoms, was it? It was much less forced. Though I am, by nature, a prose sort of man.” _ Jon’s eyes opened, revealing where he was from their eerie green glow. He was settled in the stairwell near Martin’s feet, the one place Gerry had gently warned him to avoid. It led to the basement, which led to the tunnels. There was no light, the only thing piercing the darkness being Jon’s eyes. “ _...When I was young, I refused to read the same author twice. A silly sentiment, but one I held nonetheless.” _

“Y’know, based on what I know about you, that sounds accurate.” Martin sat down on the top step, smiling down at the darkness. He thought he could see Jon’s eye widen just a little, but it could very well have been a trick of the light, or lack thereof. “I like poems because there’s so much feeling in so few words. It gets so many meanings across in such a small amount of writing.”

“ _ Hmm.”  _ Jon hummed thoughtfully, drawing it out in such a way that Martin could have sworn he could feel the deep note vibrating through the air.

“You have a nice voice.” He said before he could stop himself. Oh lord, he was an idiot.

“ _ I… Well, you know, I simply… Before this, my job was to read outloud and record it, sort of.” _ Jon’s eye disappeared, his voice obviously flustered. Martin had to fight the urge to get up and back away when he heard the creaking of the stairs. Jon’s face popped out of the darkness, only inches away from Martin’s own. “ _ You could come down and I’ll read to you. I can read you some of my own writings. It would be… an information exchange. Gerry doesn’t like my writing so much. You don’t have to, of course. In fact, don’t.”  _ He seemed to doubt his own idea.

“Uh…. sure? You’ll have to lead me, though.” Martin tried not to blush. The thought of reading poetry for Jon was personal in a way he didn’t know if he was comfortable with. 

“ _ I just said you don’t have to. _ ” For the first time Martin noticed that Jon had a defined mouth. He could see the slight gleam of sharp, white teeth behind what he had previously believed to be a completely aesthetic line. It ran from the central eye down to Jon’s chin, and was ever so slightly parted. God, that was horrific. Jon really was monstrous.

“ _ Fine!” _ Jon bared his teeth completely, his mouth opening and revealing that instead of a throat it just… ended at his eye. The pupils from his other four eyes amalgamated to the center, focusing on Martin. Martin backed up with a yelp, scrabbling across the floor as Jon rose up to his full height. His face was just a pit of teeth with an eye at the center, staring not at him, but  _ into _ him. A long, green tongue unfurled from under the eye and Martin was reminded somewhat of a proboscis, if a proboscis dripped with an almost radioactive looking liquid. Maybe the Moth part was influencing this path of thought. “ _ I’m such a horrific monster?!  _ _**I don’t need the judgement of a incompetent fool!”** _

Jon whipped around and disappeared back into the dark, the door at the bottom of the stairs slamming behind him. Martin had forgotten he had this way of Knowing what he was thinking, and while the comment stung, he was sure it came from a place of hurt.

“Jon? Jon! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!” Martin didn’t think, he just followed. “I’m not trying to judge! Jon!” 

He opened the door to the tunnels and walked into them, still apologizing. He was so preoccupied with chasing down Jon that he didn’t notice that the door shut behind him, then faded out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon said sensitive asshole rights
> 
> jk he deserves no rights if he wasn't out here looking into other peoples heads he wouldn't be butt hurt smh
> 
> Also i am so sorry about my shit poetry i didn't wanna lift something from somewhere else so its ugly lmaoooo
> 
> sorry for the big gap in posting, I'm moving in august and apartment hunting is hard


End file.
